According to Clyde, there is a large iceberg just off Eddie’s Cove which should be visible on our way south – weather permitting of course.  Farewells were said and profuse thank yous for the warmth and hospitality which far outweighed the brutal elements.

Conditions did indeed appear to lighten as we approached the aforementioned locale . . . and then blow me if the fog didn’t thicken  — I’m sure with deliberate intent.  Argh!  But wait . . .  through the gloom drifted a substantial iceberg . . . complete with seagull perched on top.  Not Yuge . . . but we’ll take it.

Further south yet, and the sun even threatened to poke through. Our place for the night was Bellshaven – a cottage right on the beach.  While the laundry was churning away a hike along the rocky beach appealed to everyone.  Huge, ocean-rounded pebbles (rocks actually) covered the shore in every colour — orange, green, brown, pink, slate .. some with pink & green speckles or dark gray lined with white.  If I lived locally, my garden would be filled with these.  There were rockpools with tiny snails and orange bunches of seaweed — quite different from our west coast kelp. Delicate green urchins – so fragile they shouldn’t have survived the waves and rocks – yet here they are in their dozens.  A vast graveyard of driftwood piled high by winter storms and bleached by the wind and sun, like so many bones.  High crumbly cliffs eroded into fantastical shapes and bays.  The tide was coming in quite fast so we didn’t venture too far along the beach – it would be very easy to get stranded, and those cliffs didn’t look easy to climb.

Our supply of clean clothes now restored to full strength, we tucked into a large kitchen-sink-chicken-and-vegetable fried rice for dinner.  A handful of herbs and a sprinkling of spices … a great way to use up leftovers.

It was much, much warmer the following morning – almost spring-like.

Arches Park sounded interesting . . . and it was.  Large, craggy, grass-topped chunks of cliff eroded by countless waves into impressive archways.  Just right for Puffins, but not a single head popped out of a grassy hollow … I think it’s too early for them to be nesting.  As we piled into the car, a curious vehicle was leaving the parking lot.  On first impression it was one of the parks garbage trucks; but far too clean and shiny, besides it had a kangaroo logo on the back.  On closer inspection it was one of those specially converted garbage trucks now luxury RV.  This one made by Mercedes.  The couple had had it shipped over from Germany and were planning a 6 month trip across Canada and up into the Yukon. Would have loved to see inside – but probably something like this:  https://www.drive.com.au/news/garbage-truck-to-5-star-luxury-camper/

The colourful fishing village at Green Point enticed us to stop.  Marsh marigolds lined a lush green stream as it trickled down the slope.  Someone had created a giant Moose Ugly Stick out of antlers and driftwood in front of their house.  Out along the point it was difficult to stand against the wind.  Hats went flying, and tiny seabirds bobbed like corks among the foam and rocks.  These were Harlequin ducks.  Fantastic that they actually choose these extreme conditions, despite receiving the most broken bones of any bird as a result. Two bright pink Adirondack chairs sat companionably side-by-side looking out to sea . . . lovely on a hot summer’s day, but right now I’m surprised they haven’t blown off the cliff.  Walking back to the car we encountered a motorcyclist who had just parked his Harley.  He had been up around L’anse aux meadows when were were and said it was without doubt the worse weather he’d ever ridden in.  What a small world —  he is from Campbell River on Vancouver Island and is riding his way west across Canada.

It was far too early to dump our things at the B&B in Deer Lake (although we checked out the location). Corner Brook was just 35 minutes down the road — a good opportunity to explore and perhaps have dinner there.  One forgets that this is Newfoundland, and like much of the Maritimes many smaller businesses and restaurants close on a Sunday.  The big Mega Stores (Walmart, Home Depot etc.) were thronged with shoppers, but the highly-recommended eateries were all firmly shut!  What a shame . . . the Japanese and Vietnamese ones looked particularly inviting.  The usual fast food alternatives didn’t really appeal so we rummaged through Trip Advisor and finally whittled it down to a couple of Chinese restaurants.  The one with all the flowering orchids in the window won out . . .  surely the sign of a careful owner.

The food, although not exciting, was fresh, well cooked and not overly salted.  Served by a somewhat unlikely waitress —  an older, matronly type with a broad east coast accent and rather clipped manner – almost like she didn’t want to be there . . . and maybe she didn’t!

We took the lake-side road part of the way back to Deer Lake.  A museum to the Newfoundland Railway (now defunct) was closed but we wandered around the train and carriages . . .  and impressive bright orange snow plough.  That must’ve been quite the sight in action!  The birch trees, which had only just burst into leaf when we first arrived, were now clouds of pale green – contrasting dramatically among the skeins of darker evergreens.  The green Hudson river following the highway for a bit before cutting its way through steep, tree-covered hills.

Time slipped away faster than we thought the next morning so thank goodness the airport was only a short, ten minute drive.  While Glen dealt with car paperwork, the lady at the information booth waved at us enthusiastically.  “I remember you . . .  how was your visit?” she inquired.  I’m sure she says this to all easily identified visitors from away . . .  she can’t possibly remember each one . . . can she?  “Did you see the icebergs?”  Goodness me, perhaps she did!!

The security process was a breeze . . . efficient but low key and friendly – ahh, the benefits of a small, regional airport.  The land fell away below us . . .  glimpses of sun-dappled trees and lakes . . . barren rocks . . . snow-capped mountains.  Farewell Newfoundland . . . what an adventure you’ve given us.

Moose ‘Ugly Stick’

“Does yous like Snow Crab?”, boomed Clyde as he stood dripping at the front door early the next morning . . .  “and dere’s moose burgers, too…..ta maykup fer da lousy wedder”. The legendary Newfoundland hospitality was at work.  I popped next door to the small but well-stocked grocery store for supplies.  Called Deckers, it was run by Clyde’s sister who greeted everyone as m’deerre or m’love.  Glen gravitated to the rows and rows of stainless steel screws, nuts and bolts which were usually much harder to find in Duncan. Cooks Harbour is a remote fishing village so I fully expected prices to be accordingly higher.  Couldn’t be further from the truth – most items were similar to what we’d pay at home . . . and many considerably cheaper!  Fresh vegetables, however, were rather limited and a bit pricier.  There was a handy bonus though . . . locals (and visitors from away) could use refrigerated condiments like ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise and pickles – without having to buy entire bottles. Such a brilliant and practical idea.

It was only a few steps back to the house, but we arrived drenched and had to hold on firmly to the front door in case the wind wrenched it away.  Couldn’t see the harbour at all – it was completely blanketed in fog.  Being such a miserable day – bitterly cold, wet, windy and with virtually no visibility, we stayed put . . . cosy and warm.

Appetites were good though!  The snow crabs were excellent, and there was a lively debate over whether lobster or snow crab was the better tasting as the juices splattered across the table.  This is a true Newfoundlander’s home — the utensil drawer had no less than THREE sets of nut/lobster crackers and appropriate picks  Then the moose burgers.  Four patties of monstrous proportions (we divided them into 6 normal sized ones), perfectly seasoned and garlic infused (Clyde’s obviously done this many times before).  We’d momentarily considered using the BBQ outside, but fortunately Glen came to his senses and we cooked them in a large frying pan instead.  They were outstanding.  And rounded off nicely by apple pie.

The next morning dawned dark and chilly . . . some time in the night the power had gone off, so with no heat …. no coffee/tea … and no internet …. we remained under the covers, pondering our options.  Probably the whole town was affected – including the store and coffee shop.  Just as we were contemplating ice cold juice, milk and cereal for breakfast, the power came on. Thank goodness!  We’d received anxious emails from Clyde, concerned that we had survived the power outage.

There was a marginal lifting of the fog and we could actually see across the bay . . .  there was even a tiny

iceberg right in front of our window. If we don’t go now, we’ll never see anything, so off we went to L’anse aux Meadows at the very the northern most tip of the peninsula.  There were picturesque fishing villages and coves, which sadly lacked the usual vibrant east coast colours . . .  a few icebergs drifted temptingly in and out of the mist.

A  full blast of winter greeted us in the parking lot of the Viking interpretation centre – bitter wind, icy rain and relentless fog. Looking up, on top of the hill

were silhouettes of a group of Vikings, an eerie sight.  We dashed inside for warmth.  On a clear day, the views must be magnificent through the floor to ceiling windows, but there was an excellent video, a carved wooden long boat with sail, dioramas, artifacts … all very well displayed.  It was late in the afternoon, but we still had time to wander around the reconstructed Norse houses.  Peat brick walls and green turfed roofs, no windows and doors facing away from the prevailing wind.  A brightly burning fire was a welcome site, and two fellows with bushy beards, who really could have been Vikings (despite their accents) offered a great deal of interesting details about life in the village as it was back then.  He did go on to say that no-one knew why the Vikings suddenly left ‘Vinland’ . . . . BUT WE KNOW . . .  it was too damned cold – in June!  Thankfully there were fires in the weaving room and blacksmith’s forge so it was a matter of dashing from one to the next and limiting outside exposure.  Thoroughly fascinating experience and well worth the trip.

St. Anthony is the main community up here . ..  but you have to pronounce it correctly.   Saint Ant’ney is how the locals refer to it.  A good-sized town with big modern hospital and an excellent selection of elder care homes (all with great views, I might add).  Colourful houses draped all along the rocky coastline.  An inviting place, and surprisingly, the only For Sale sign I’ve seen anywhere on the northern peninsula.  Rounding one corner, a bright orange and green Canso water bomber was displayed in a park — a memorial to two fire fighters who went down in such a plane in 1967.

A roasted chicken from the food store, together with a big salad, potatoes and bread made for a tasty dinner tonight.  The cinnamon buns were a little disappointing though .. freshly made, but lacking in texture and waay too much cinnamon.  Ah well, we’ve had amazing food this trip.

We have Sun! and barely any wind.

Packed, tidied and away … through the town … past the mobile Open Air Gospel Trailer — dare we call it

a “Porta Prayer”?  I think it would work quite well for confessionals.  The harbour is much calmer this morning and everywhere looks picture worthy with sunshine and some wispy clouds.

Shortly after St. Paul with its bridge, boat launch and fast-moving tide — a Moose.  We drove past at first, thinking it was a horse – to be fair, there was a horse in the adjacent field.  But no, this was an honest to goodness young Moose, standing in a marshy meadow, happily munching the lush vegetation and paying not the slightest notice to us.

Further along the scenic coast road entire fields of flowering dandelions – brilliant

yellow as far as the eye could see.  They must be equally spectacular when the seed heads appear and disperse.  Beach vistas changed to densely packed forests – the thin trees so close together they presented an impenetrable barrier.  The trees gradually faded to be replaced by a landscape of shallow peaty ponds dotted with rocks left by the last ice age – very similar to those on the East Coast.

Every hour or so the car plays a musical tune and a message appears on the driver’s screen – “Consider taking a break”.  Good for safety, I know … but it can get a touch tedious on long journeys.

EVERYONE burns wood for heat, and everywhere you look, the log piles are being replenished ready for next winter.  Long, neatly stacked rows like fences or huge, untidy piles ready for pick up to be transported home.

As we approached the halfway point (Port au Choix) the sun disappeared behind gathering clouds and it was downright COLD leaving the car — 5C . . .  a drop of ten degrees.  Lunch at the Anchor Restaurant – fish tacos and cups of homemade soup for K & B . . . Glen and I plumped for large bowls of the hearty turkey and veggie soup.  Again the cook was not shy in the amount of ingredients.  Definitely looks like serious rain

on the way.

Stocked up at the grocery store then continued north to Cooks Harbour – a further 193 km.  By now it was driving rain and decreased visibility.  There were potholes in earnest now as well –  too many to avoid – and nicely hidden with the pooling rain.  It was a rather noisy, bumpy and spray-filled trip.  The car’s drive assist sort of worked – maybe 73% of the time – and mostly on straight sections . . .  but the rain and faded road markings didn’t exactly build confidence in it’s ability.

At one point a gaggle of seagulls, lurking in a water-filled ditch took flight as we approached and one laggard dithered about which direction to take and just narrowly escaped a boost up the tailfeathers from our windscreen.

Wait a minute, what’s that through the gloom and fog?  Two small icebergs – rounded and barely above

the waterline – hardly living up to their name (but I suppose 90% IS below the surface).  Then more, slightly bigger – their interiors that glorious blue colour.  We pulled over for a better view and noticed white chunks  stranded along the beach itself.   Further still, some of the bays were entirely filled with sea ice and the temperature outside read 2C (it was 28C in Duncan!).  Disgruntled seagulls, meanwhile, huddled together on lawns like so many garden ornaments, shuffling their feathers in annoyance against the buffeting wind.

Peculiar fenced garden plots began appearing along the road sides . . . some were obviously active while others lay in disrepair – their fences toppled or broken.  Barry solved the puzzle . . . apparently people started these allotments back in the 1960s when roads to the north peninsula were first pushed through.  The displaced peat was dumped along the verges, and realizing this probably doubled or even tripled the original soil base, it was put to good use.  Apparently, the fences were to keep the moose out.  Hardly!  The fences are so low or flimsy the moose could easily step over … or walk right through.

Rain was being delivered in horizontal gusts as we arrived at the B&B.  Luggage was unloaded efficiently . .  . two removing stuff from the car while two dragged the bags inside.  Clyde (one of the two owners) welcomed us in. Really nice guy … apologizing for the dreadful weather, which even by Newfoundland standards has been awful.  We have the entire upstairs of a big house.  Used to be the family home, but after their parents passed away, the two sons decided to run it – using the revenue to upgrade everything.  Their sister runs the grocery/hardware/gas station right next door.  A real family business you might say.

Spaghetti for dinner.